Tiff in Time (The Fae Killers Book 1)

by Jaxon Reed

  She closed and locked the door behind them and he realized they were in a tiny room with little more than an open Murphy bed. It took up most of the space. He barely noticed the large mirror along one wall.

  She placed her hands on his chest, looked up and smiled at him.

  “First time, huh?”

  “I, uh, what? How did you—”

  She passed out and fell backwards onto the bed.

  Tiff appeared beside him. Booker jumped.

  “Oh! Hi there. I, uh, I’m still getting used to your sudden appearances.”

  “Stay away from her, Darius. Cait says she recently contracted syphilis.”

  His face blanched as he glanced down at the teenager.

  “Oh, my. That’s bad. A death sentence! And she’s so young. I wasn’t going to—”

  She waved away his protests.

  “Just a minute, I’m going to cure her and inoculate her against other bad stuff.”

  Tiff waved her hand over the girl.

  Booker’s eyebrows furrowed. He said, “Inoculate?”

  “Yes. So she won’t catch anything else from these scumbags.”

  Tiff reached down and placed two fingers against the girl’s temple.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Letting Cait implant an idea in her head. One that will help her realize the futility of her current course in life. One that will hopefully inspire her to get away from here and make something of herself. One that doesn’t lead her to an early grave.”

  “Oh. Wow. You can do that? Implant ideas in people’s heads?”

  “Cait can. They still have free will of course, but her ideas can be rather persuasive. Cait’s sensors on this alternate will keep track of her, too, so we can find out if it works.”

  She smiled at Booker. He smiled back. Then another thought occurred to him.

  “Why do you bother? Surely there must be millions of hookers among the worlds you visit.”

  She shrugged and said, “I’ve got a special place in my heart for prostitutes. If I can help any of them get out of the trap they’re in, I always try to.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and said, “They’re going to expect you to stay here for a while. We may as well get comfortable.”

  They spoke for a while before Booker nodded off. Tiff let her head go back and she fell asleep, too.

  -+-

  In her dream, Tiff knew she had just turned 18. She walked in the Mountain Room with Jason again, only this time their pace matched as they strolled along the trail.

  “I think you’re ready,” he said. “Cait will be there if you need anything. If there’s something you don’t know offhand or need to know how to do, just ask her and she’ll either tell you or do it for you.”

  Tiff nodded eagerly, her heart pumping with exuberance.

  “I can’t wait for my first solo jump! Where will I be going, and what will I be doing?”

  “You’ll be going to an alternate similar to yours, to late 18th century Paris. The French Revolution.”

  She nodded, not surprised. Eb had briefed her extensively on the history of Original Earth’s French Revolution. He made certain she learned fluent French and could speak it with the appropriate accent. He also made sure she understand all the local slang and vernacular of 18th century Paris.

  The human version of the library’s computer had done all that by placing his hand on her forehead for a moment. Technology is marvelous, she thought.

  As they reached the rocky outcropping together and looked out over the Bavarian valley far below, another thought occurred to her.

  “What’s my mission? What am I going to do there?”

  He smiled at her enthusiasm, but his tone turned serious.

  “We’re not entirely sure. This is an alternate where Cait does not have many sensors. We think the fae have infiltrated its timeline, but we don’t know much about them or what they are doing. Your job will be to identify any fae and try to rectify the damage and chaos they’re sowing. We’ll know more after you get there.”

  She nodded, satisfied with the answer. Then another thought occurred to her.

  “I’ve heard you called ‘The Walker.’ Why is that? Where did that name come from?”

  He smiled again, recalling the little girl who had always demanded so many answers to so many questions.

  “I walk among the alternates. And now, so do you.”

  -+-

  Tiff woke up and stretched. Delilah remained in the same position on the bed, unconscious. Booker sat on the floor, his back and head propped against the foot of the bed. He looked uncomfortable, but he slept, snoring softly.

  Cait spoke in her head.

  “There is a conversation you should have Mr. Booker listen to. It is occurring in the back office.”

  “Okay.”

  She stood up and gently shook Booker’s shoulder until his eyes opened.

  “Come on, we need to do a little eavesdropping.”

  He climbed to his feet and followed her out the door, shutting it softly so as not to disturb Delilah.

  Tiff led the way down the hall to the great room. Various ladies of the night and a few remaining customers were sprawled on the furniture. Most were passed out from drinking. A couple men were awake enough to ogle Tiff. She ignored them and headed for the kitchen, which had been upgraded and enlarged to accommodate several more people than the farmhouse’s original tenants.

  Booker followed her to the back of the kitchen where an office door stood slightly ajar. She crept up to it silently, putting a finger to her lips toward Booker. He nodded and stepped lightly. They heard Al Capone’s voice and Fanny’s.

  “. . . and I hope that boy of yours is worth it, Mr. Capone. He took my best girl off the floor the entire night. She brings in a lot of money, that one.”

  Capone guffawed, and said, “I’m glad he finally got some. Maybe he’ll loosen up. The cameras was runnin’, right?”

  “Of course, Mr. Capone. The cameras are always running in all the bedrooms.”

  “Good, good. I want to see the tape later. Also the congressman who was in here last week.”

  “I’ll have the boys make copies and send them to your office next week.”

  Booker and Tiff exchanged glances. The blood completely drained from his face.

  Tiff checked in mentally with Cait.

  “Did you know about the cameras, Cait?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you disabled them for us?”

  “Yes. It is easy to cause an apparently accidental malfunction with primitive mechanical devices.”

  “Let me know next time, okay?”

  “Certainly. Although, every 126 times you have asked me to do that previously, you later countermanded the request 123 times.”

  “Don’t be petulant, Cait.”

  “I cannot experience emotion in a true sense. I am an artificial intelligence designed to—”

  “Shut up, Cait.”

  Tiff made a “don’t worry about it” gesture to Booker. He looked relieved. They both returned their attention to the conversation.

  “This is a good operation youse run, Fanny. The girls are clean, they stay happy and quiet. We bring in the VIPs, youse sends back the money. Keep up the good work.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Capone.”

  Cait interjected into Tiff’s thoughts again, and said, “There is an 89 percent chance he will be leaving the room soon. Ralph Capone is already in the truck. I suggest you return Mr. Booker to the prostitute’s room so he will be there when Al Capone comes to fetch him.”

  Tiff tugged silently on Booker’s arm, and led him back to Delilah’s room. Within minutes Capone knocked on the door. Tiff disappeared before Booker opened it.

  Capone grinned widely at the sight of Delilah passed out on the bed, then winked at Booker.

  “All dressed? Time to go.”

  Booker nodded, and followed Capone back down the hall toward the great room. The shorter man slapped h
im on the back as they went out the door and made their way to the truck for the ride back to the city.

  The Capone brothers dropped Booker off in front of his tenement at 6:00 in the morning. He stumbled through the front door only to find Bertha Brisbane staring daggers at him.

  “Morning Ms. Brisbane,” he said, sounding chipper than he felt.

  She grilled him on his whereabouts the night before. He assured her he had been out on business, and that she could call and confirm his whereabouts with his employer, who had taken him at the last minute to inspect a property out of town recently added to their books.

  Reluctantly, Brisbane allowed him to climb the stairs to his room, but not before sniffing his breath and his clothes for hints of alcohol. He only smelled of cigarettes, though. Once inside, after being strictly warned not to smoke in his room, he locked the door behind him, slipped out of his shoes and plopped down on the bed in exhaustion.

  Tiff appeared, and gave him a sympathetic glance.

  “You look beat.”

  He nodded morosely.

  “That’s not even the worst of it,” he said.

  She quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

  He looked as glum as she had even seen him. When he glanced up, she realized he was close to tears.

  “The books are all wrong!”

  8

  After waking up around lunchtime, Tiff noted Booker seemed more rested. He changed his clothes, then made himself a sandwich and walked out the door while ignoring a very stern-faced Bertha Brisbane.

  Invisible, Tiff followed him as he made his way to Capone’s office building. Sometimes he’d exchange pleasant conversation under his breath with her on the way to work, but he remained silent all the way this Saturday. When he arrived, the office appeared deserted.

  Once at his desk, he pulled out ledgers for the Outfit’s last five years and began examining them line-by-line. She appeared beside him, looking over his shoulder, and offered a conversational gambit.

  “Auditing the books?”

  He nodded, but said nothing. She debated trying again. Eventually, she decided not to. She took a seat, asked Cait to keep an eye on things, then asked Eb to bring up the last page from her most recent romance novel. Booker didn’t even notice the pages floating in the air.

  Late that evening he closed the last ledger, stretched the kinks out of his muscles, and left for home. Invisible, she followed him, noting he had said practically nothing all day and continued his silence on the walk back.

  Brisbane had leftovers from supper, and glared disapprovingly at Booker’s late arrival. He ignored her and ate the food cold before making his way up the stairs to his room. He didn’t even respond to the older woman’s final “Harrumph!” as he walked up the steps.

  With the door locked behind him, he sank down on his bed in a depressed heap. Tiff made herself visible and quirked a sympathetic eyebrow.

  “Well? Did you find out what you wanted to know?”

  He nodded, and sounded thoroughly depressed when he finally spoke.

  “It’s obvious, now that I’m looking for it. There are funds hidden all over the place. Illicit gains are being laundered through the Outfit’s legitimate businesses. Hidden assets are cloaked in code words. I doubt there’s a more profitable dairy operation in the entire country.”

  She moved closer, wanting to give him a comforting hug. He looked so despondent.

  She said, “Well, it’s better that you know now. No telling how long you might have gone on working in the dark.”

  “I have been so stupid! I’m trained in this. I should have known something was fishy a long time ago. I’ve been ignoring the obvious for too long.”

  Tiff shrugged and said, “I think things have grown gradually worse. It didn’t start out this way. Maybe there was some minor corruption initially, but I’m sure Sleaghan amplified things.”

  She noted the words did not make him feel any better. Her heart went out to him. His entire world had collapsed.

  Cait spoke in her mind and said, “Tiff, you should port over to the docks. Capone and his men are meeting with another gang.”

  She looked back at the morose Booker and touched him lightly on the arm.

  “I’ll be back. Cheer up. Capone usually gets in trouble with the authorities due to his books in just about every alternate.”

  With that, a doorway slivered open and she walked through it, winking out of sight.

  Booker stared up at the ceiling after she left, the blood draining from his face.

  “But I’m in charge of the books!”

  -+-

  A black Pierce-Arrow limousine pulled to a stop on a dilapidated pier in the Port of Chicago.

  This isolated location would serve as a perfect meeting spot, James Clark thought to himself. Capone’s Outfit owned the whole dock, and the entire surrounding area. But Clark had seen nobody else since the driver made his way through the open gate leading to this section.

  Mostly in shadow, chrome grill peeking out in the dim evening light, another limo sat waiting. Al Capone and his brother Ralph stepped out at the same time, both dressed in white suits. Two henchmen in pinstripes quickly followed them out. Clark noted the bulges under the arms of the lackeys.

  No doubt the driver has a Tommy gun in the front seat, too, or maybe a BAR or some other heavy weaponry, Clark thought.

  Clark’s real name was Albert Kachellek. It amused him that like Capone, he too could be called “Al.” But “Kachellek” didn’t seem American enough. Especially since he was part of Chicago’s Irish Mob, second in command behind Bugs Moran.

  Out loud he said, “Let’s go, boys. Don’t want to keep Mr. Capone waiting.”

  His men grunted in acknowledgment, and both exited the limo with him. They walked slowly toward the Italians, who had stopped a few feet outside the shadows stretching over their car.

  One of his men said, “They’re making us walk farther, Boss.”

  Clark said, “It’s a show of strength. No matter. I’ve got some surprises in store for the wops.”

  The Irish drew closer to the Italians. Clark stopped at a respectful distance. He said, “Thanks for meeting with us.”

  Capone smirked at him, and looked up at his brother.

  “Ya hear that, Ralphie? It’s like he called us to meet him.”

  Ralph cracked a smile, but remained silent. Al usually took care of the rough stuff. Things requiring direct confrontation. Ralph was happy to let him do it.

  Al turned his attention back on Clark.

  “Why ain’t Bugsy here?”

  “Mr. Moran sends his regards. He’s in bed with the flu. I am authorized to discuss all relevant business and make any decisions on his behalf.”

  Capone snorted in disbelief.

  “That ain’t right. Come back when Bugs gets better. If he’s really sick. I talks to him, not some peon.”

  Clark’s back stiffened at the insult, but he kept a poker face.

  “Mr. Moran wishes to maintain our current boundaries. He’s willing to discuss a shared arrangement in some of the bordering neighborhoods, but he is mostly happy with the current situation in which we control the north side while you have the south.”

  Capone grunted, and gave Clark a malicious smile. He said, “That’s the point of our meeting today. I’m informing Bugs of a new arrangement. Tell him we’re taking over the whole city. He works for me now, and so does everybody under him. Including youse.”

  Clark’s eyes widened in surprise. He knew Capone wanted more territory, but this was a blatant power grab! He felt shocked.

  “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll be sure and tell Mr. Moran.”

  “You do that, peon. Go on back home and let him know our Outfit runs everything now.”

  Al made little shooing motions with his hand.

  Stunned at the audacity of Capone’s statements, Clark turned and made his way back to the Pierce-Arrow. He said nothing to his men, who followed his lead.

  His driver jump
ed out and opened the back door for him. Just before getting in, he snapped out of his stupor and remembered to give the signal. He lifted his hand high, twirling it over his head. A shot rang out, then another.

  Capone’s shoulder exploded in red. Ralph’s head blew open, blood and brains splattering. Clark’s Pierce-Arrow pulled out, tires squealing, as more shots rained down on the Italians.

  The sniper turned his attention to the goons struggling to pull their side arms out, shooting both in the chest. Capone scrambled behind the limo. His driver jumped out with a Thompson submachine gun, taking up position behind the car.

  Badabadabadabadabadabadabada!

  The sniper’s fire abated while he took cover.

  The driver’s Tommy gun stopped, the drum magazine spent. He traded looks with Capone, who held his shoulder tight to staunch the flow of blood.

  “Think I got ’im, Boss?”

  Kerpow!

  The driver’s head exploded in a cloud of blood, and he collapsed next to Capone.

  “No.”

  Capone belly crawled over to one of his fallen men behind the car. The sniper couldn’t see him well, but took a few shots anyway. Bullets ricocheted off the pavement.

  Capone flipped the man’s body over and pulled back the sleeve of his suit coat, revealing a thin golden bracelet. He pulled it off and placed it on his own wrist, feeling a sudden surge of energy.

  “I told him to use this thing instead of his gun.”

  Capone aimed his fist in the general direction of the sniper and a huge burst of golden energy flowed out of his arm.

  The shooting stopped. Flames lit up barrels and debris littering the far end of the dock where the sniper hid.

  Capone, stood, confident of success. In the distance, he watched the sniper’s blackened body slump to the ground, his now useless rifle clattering down beside him.

  -+-

  Tiff slipped through the shimmering doorway in a far corner of the docks, and immediately turned invisible. She made her way to the fallen bodies of Capone’s henchmen.